


Dulcius Ex Asperis

by wintergrey



Series: Vade Mecum [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Family, Family Dynamics, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sweeter after difficulties.</i>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“I hear you’re in town,” he says, as soon as Dad picks up.</p>
  <p>“We hadn’t heard from you in a while,” Dad says in that tone that means ‘I’m not saying you should call more often but you should call more often’. “You know your mother worries—” We worry. “—after everything.” Because your flight partner died and you couldn’t deal with it.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Dulcius Ex Asperis

Sam doesn’t use his phone while driving but he’s damn tempted to make an exception. At least it’s only a short drive home. He parks, then sits there in the car for a moment before calling his father—now that he has the chance to call, he needs to collect himself. 

“I hear you’re in town,” he says, as soon as Dad picks up.

“We hadn’t heard from you in a while,” Dad says in that tone that means ‘I’m not saying you should call more often but you should call more often’. “You know your mother worries—” We worry. “—after everything.” Because your flight partner died and you couldn’t deal with it.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, things have been rough on a lot of people at the VA.” War coming to DC had caused a lot of secondary trauma for veterans already dealing with enough. Sam tucks the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he gets the groceries out of the back.

“And not on you?” Strangely, no, but Sam can’t say that. He can’t say ‘at least I got to do something about it’. But that made the difference—that he could help. That, and Steve.

“I’m okay, Dad. Really.”

“Does your friend have something to do with that?” Dad asks tentatively. Sam freezes on his way to the door. “I don’t want to assume, of course.” There’s probably not a lot else to assume, mind, when a ridiculously beautiful half-naked man answers your gay son’s door.

“Yes, he does.” Sam’s managed to go this long without admitting to being in a relationship. He doesn’t even know why. “You can… you can go ahead and assume. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it’s just… it’s complicated. Do you want me to come to brunch, still?” Family brunch was a Wilson tradition, one Sam hadn’t taken part in nearly enough since he got out.

“We came to see you, son.” Dad sounds disappointed but it’s not because of Steve. Dad said once in a VA therapy session that, some time in his growing up, Sam just slipped a little out of phase. That they never seemed to be able reach him the way they did the other four kids. “Bring your friend if that’s how things are.”

“Steve.” Sam’s not sure how to explain the rest of what’s going on but he’s just going to have to make it up as he goes. He gets the front door open without dropping anything. “His name is Steve.”

“So I can tell your mother you’ll be joining us?” Sam can hear the smile in Dad’s voice and it gets him, knowing that they want to see him. He’s really damn lucky. He walks in to find Steve, clean from the shower and half-dressed—khakis and an unbuttoned white shirt—ironing one of Sam’s own button-downs.

“Yeah, I’ll be there, Dad, I just have to put the milk away.” It’s hard to get the words out past the tightness in his throat. He’s known Steve for a while now and he still didn’t expect to just walk in on him getting ready—getting them ready—to go out with his parents. Like it’s that easy.

“No T-shirts,” Dad warns, like clockwork.

“Yes, I will wear a decent shirt,” Sam promises. Steve wouldn’t let him get away with less, it seems. Steve holds up the one he’s ironing, a lilac button-down that he tells Sam looks good on him. Sam wants to kiss him but he needs to stay focused. “Ironed, even. Steve’s one step ahead of us. As usual. You get used to it. Anyway, yeah, go on and order Mom a mimosa or three and we’ll be there. Thanks.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you,” Dad says. “And Sam? Your mother and I apologize for not calling ahead.” The line goes dead before Sam can say anything more. He tosses the phone on the counter so he can put the groceries away.

“Dad says sorry for not calling ahead,” he says, loud enough for Steve to hear.

“Could have been worse,” Steve says mildly. “At least you gave me my jeans before you left.”

Oh. God. Sam thumps his head against the freezer door as he opens the fridge. Horror at how poorly that would have gone is mixed distressingly with arousal at the thought of Steve cleaning his house naked.

“This thing is gonna kill me, Steve.” Once Sam’s done putting things in place, he takes a moment to watch Steve iron his shirt before he goes for a shower. Steam rises through the sunlight that glitters in Steve’s hair, draws a halo around him. It feels right. Why can’t he just enjoy it?

“If you die, I have to have brunch with your parents. Alone. And that’s going to be awkward.” Steve works the iron across the yoke of Sam’s shirt. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I wouldn’t.” Sam comes around to the other side of the ironing board, then takes the iron away from Steve. The tension in his gut spreads up his spine, claws at the base of his skull, steals his smile. Even in the sun, he’s not warm. “I should have told them a while ago,” he admits, sliding the iron down already-pressed fabric. “But I didn’t know what to say to them. Some things, we don’t talk about.”

“Like you being with men.” Steve shakes out the shirt, rearranges it so Sam can press the front.

“Yeah, me being… with men. Never bringing a girl home. Gay. Whatever words you want to put on it. And it’s not that they don’t love me,” Sam says quickly, meeting Steve’s eyes briefly to make his point. It’s him, it’s not them. “They do. No matter what. They’re good. And maybe that’s what I can’t stand, why I couldn’t tell them. I stay fucking up and they love me anyway.”

Being gay, floundering through high school, never making it past university, dropping out. The Army. Getting discharged. PTSD. The labyrinth of wrong turns that weren’t so much wrong as they were the only turns Sam could make—somehow doors were open for other people that he could never see when it came his time to choose. All that opportunity his parents laid out for him, opportunity they struggled for, and he ends up here.

“Sam.” Steve takes the iron away, sets it aside. “You… you are the opposite of fucking up. I don’t know what expectations you’re trying to live up to but you’re my hero.” He covers Sam’s hands with his own to keep Sam from trying to straighten out the button band with his fingers. “Look at me.”

Sam does look up, after a moment, and his hands go still under Steve’s. It’s hard. It’s hard to come face to face with any of this. “Okay.”

“I wish Erskine could have met you. He couldn’t have done better than you.” Steve’s expression is so open, so honest. Sam could fall into his eyes and be safe there forever.

“Erskine.” Sam finally remembers the name but can’t put the pieces together. “The guy who made you into Captain America.”

“Yes. I wish he could have known you.” Steve’s gaze won’t let Sam go, holds onto him even though self-loathing is trying to pull him back into himself where he can’t be reached. “He would have picked you for it in a heartbeat. You’re that kind of person, Sam. We would have been lucky to have you. I’m lucky now.”

That… that is the last thing in the world Sam expected to hear, from anyone, but Steve doesn’t lie about important things. In the sunlight, in white, he looks like an angel come down to tell Sam the truth in person. Sam hangs on to his hands as though he’s going to fall without Steve to hold him up.

“I just wanted to get it right, you know?” Sam’s voice cracks and he hates that this still eats him. “Man, I tried so hard when I was a kid. It was me, not them. My mom was always saying I just had to find myself but I knew where the fuck I was, I just didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be like everyone else. Goddamnit.”

Sam pulls away at last because it hurts too much and Steve lets him go. He gets back to ironing, keeping an eye on Sam as he stalks the living room. Finally, Sam sags into a chair.

“How come I can’t get okay with this? How come I can’t just let them love me for what I am?”

“Maybe because you can’t love yourself for what you are,” Steve said gently. He hangs Sam’s shirt up on the same hanger with a good pair of slacks. Sam doesn’t want to think about how right Steve is, but Steve just keeps on with it. Centre of the target with every shot. “Maybe you need to forgive yourself.”

“How did you deal with it?” It had to have been harder for Steve, things were worse back then, weren’t they?

“I didn’t.” Steve picks up a basket of clean laundry, sets it on the ironing board, then starts sorting Sam’s socks.

“You what?”

“Didn’t have any prospects as a kid,” Steve says, glancing up to meet Sam’s eyes. “Didn’t think about it much. Spent a lot of time just getting by, hell, just trying to breathe some days. There was Peggy, for all of a minute… but I missed that date. Then I woke up and I was just trying to get by all over again. Trying to breathe.”

“But—” Sam has no way to process that. He gestures between them. “You? Me?”

“Didn’t see it coming.” Steve’s smile is slow and sweet. “I just… just saw you. There you were. Nothing to deal with. Well, not like you’re talking about. I was too busy trying to breathe—in a whole new way. You want the green socks with the purple or the purple ones?”

“Green.” Sam gets up to take them, and the hanger, when Steve holds them out.

“I wish could be more helpful. I’m sorry.” Steve gives Sam a wry little smile. His hair is half-dry now and so bright, so gold with the sun behind him.

“You’re really… you’re really just good with this, aren’t you?” Sam needs to hear it from him.

“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt. “I love you, Sam. You love me. I am more than good with it.” Steve cups Sam’s cheek in his hand, then kisses him gently on the mouth. “I’m blessed. You told me I was a gift once. You’re mine. Everything you are, just the way you are, even the parts you can’t get right with. Now go shower. And wash behind your ears. I don’t want your mother thinking I’m bad for you.”

“You could never be bad for me, baby.” Sam might need to forgive himself for whatever failures he thought he saw in the mirror when he was a kid, but Steve makes it so much easier. “You’re just what I need.” He steals one more kiss before he makes himself move. Last thing he wants is to keep his parents waiting longer than they already have.

Brunch at the usual place means mimosas and eggs benedict and savoury crepes and a seemingly endless list of foods that always sweep Sam back to his childhood, back to the early days when this was a once a year event, then as often as once a month as Dad’s work took off and Mom made partner at the law firm. The restaurant hasn’t changed a bit in Sam’s recollection. It still looks like a photograph of France that someone reproduced in DC.

Mom and Dad are at a table for four up by the windows, talking like they just met, animated and bright. Mom is always Mom, polished and elegant, clattering bangles and flashing earrings, red silk dress to show off her dark skin, sleeked-back hair in a twist at her nape—shot with silver through the black, but still flawless. Dad’s what Sam’s going to look like in twenty years, maybe without the hand-tailored Italian suits, and he’s okay with that. More than that, he hopes he has someone to look at the way Dad looks at Mom.

Sam looks over his shoulder as Steve follows him in, just to reassure himself that Steve’s real, that he’s here. Steve winks at him, then his warm hand finds Sam’s and he winds their fingers together, squeezing gently. Sam’s not used to that part but it feels damn good. Reassuring.

“Tell me I can do this,” Sam says in a low voice. He isn’t sure he’s ever been less hungry than he is now, and he loves brunch.

“Don’t worry,” Steve says as Mom catches sight of them and waves. “Today, your parents; tomorrow, the world.”

“Tomorrow? Next week. Maybe next month. I need a vacation after this,” Sam grumbles before he perks up in time to greet his parents. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” Then he’s hugging his mom, surrounded by her familiar perfume.

“I was worried about you, baby,” she murmurs in his ear. “Now introduce me to your young man and you better have a good explanation for why he looks just like Captain America.”

“Because he is.” Sam just sucks it up and gets that out there. He’s almost afraid to look at the expression on her face. “Steve, these are my parents, Aaron and Candace. Mom, Dad, this is Steve, my…” He didn’t think of what word to use there.

“Boyfriend will do fine for now,” Steve fills in helpfully. He offers his hand to Mom first. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Mom says pleasantly, then she shoots Dad a look. One of those looks. “Don’t start with me.”

“Nice to meet you, son.” Dad shakes Steve’s hand. “Don’t mind her, she owes me fifty dollars thanks to you. She hates to lose a bet.”

“If my son ever told me anything, I wouldn’t be in this position.” Mom gives Sam an aggrieved look as she sits down again, reaching for her purse. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.”

Steve holds Sam’s chair for him and Sam’s halfway to sitting before he realizes it. He’s just used to it by now, Steve does it at home when they sit down to eat and it’s already worn itself into the regular groove of Sam’s life—Steve taking care of him. Treating him like he’s important.

Sam pulls his gaze away from Steve’s face in time to see a flash of approval pass between his parents… and a fifty dollar bill. Of course. When Steve sits down next to Sam, he slides his arm across the back of Sam’s chair and it’s right. Comforting. It feels good.

Sam’s parents are laughing and arguing over whether Mom is trying to pay Dad off with a counterfeit fifty, Mom trying to take it back if Dad doesn’t want it. It’s so similar to the way he and Steve are, so normal, a tangle of emotions gets Sam in the chest. When Sam looks over at him, Steve’s smile says he sees the same thing.

It really hits Sam—if he was anyone else, he wouldn’t be with Steve right now. He doesn’t want to be anyone else. He’s good with being himself. All of himself.

“You okay?” Steve ducks a little closer so Sam can hear him.

“Yeah, I am. Better than okay.” Sam pats Steve on the thigh. “I think I’m getting right.”  
  
Brunch is so good and it’s not just the quality of the food—though Sam is suddenly damn hungry for it by the time the first course arrives—it’s just being with his family. There’s a backlog of gossip he’s missed, cousins, neighbors, and friends, as well as good news and bad news. Steve’s quick to pick up on all the family connections, which helps. New people tend to get lost just trying to sort out Sam’s four brothers and sisters.

“Your sister’s going to be in town for a conference next month,” Mom says, as Dad’s settling up. “I don’t suppose you boys would like to do this again.” Sam gives her the ‘I have two sisters, Mom’ look and she rolls her eyes at him. “Michal. If you’d been paying attention, Samuel, you’d know.”

“Judith is going to Spain,” Steve offers. “With her young man. I caught that much.”

“That’s if your father doesn’t find a way to get him on the no-fly list,” Mom mutters. “Don’t get him started. The boy’s a hippie.”

“Worse.” Dad tucks his wallet away, scowling, before offering Mom his hand. “He thinks he’s a Rastafarian—from Miami Beach.”

“Aaron.” Mom points at him, then lets him help her up. “Don’t make this more fun for her than it already is. Go show Sam your new car. Daddy got himself a new car for that birthday he hasn’t even had yet—apparently it’s from me but I don’t know why I’d buy him a convertible when you know what the wind does to my hair.”

Steve lets Sam go ahead after Dad, then offers Mom his arm. Of course. Somehow he does it in a way that looks completely natural. “Ma’am.”

Mom slips her hand in his arm, then waves her clutch at Sam and Dad. “Go. Go on.”

“Going, going.” Sam wants to steal a kiss from Steve but resists, following Dad out into the sunlight instead. It’s a stunning day. “Convertible, Dad? So, does she let you drive it?” Mom can’t resist a good car; Sam must have got his love of speed from her.

“When I behave, son. And I’m allowed to park it in my side of the garage, even,” Dad says, chuckling. “You know she loves me because she got it in silver instead of red.” He checks over his shoulder. “I hope you plan on keeping that boy around for a while.”

Sam looks back; Steve is arm in arm with Mom who’s talking very seriously to him. She has her ‘motherly advice’ face on, Sam’s seen that one all his life. “I was thinking about it, yes.”

“Good.” Dad pulls out his keys and the lights on a tidy little Mercedes down the street blink as it beeps. “You break up with him, I’m going to have to get her a puppy.”

 


End file.
